


Love Letters

by howardently



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howardently/pseuds/howardently
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rae and Finn are adorable together. 100% fluffy fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Letters

“No no no no no no no no no.” Rae’s tumble of words filters into the space between their faces and he laughs.

“C’mon, Rae. It’s not that bad.”

“It is so. It’s so so bad.” She closes her eyes and pouts, and he thinks the way her face reshapes and reddens is maybe the best thing he’s ever seen. For someone so prone to outbursts of emotion, she can be awfully aloof with him and it’s rare to see her so adorably flustered and embarrassed.

“Nah. I like it. And you know I’m practically an expert at things like this.”

Her eyes spring open and she shoots him a snarky grimace, one eyebrow raised. He bites his bottom lip to keep his grin from growing too wide, she’s been known to give him a smack when she thinks he deserves it.

“Oh yeah, because having received a single love letter makes you such an expert.”

He raises his head off the pillow and onto his hand, looking down at her. He likes the way her hair spreads over the lump of the pillow and cascades gently onto the sheet. He’s spent a lot of time in her bed staring over her like this, and it never fails to entrance him.

 “Who says I’ve only ever gotten one love letter?” He’s trying to rile her up because the red that warms her cheeks when she’s agitated is so lovely. Plus, when she’s riled up the words pour from her in a torrent, and he loves listening to her go on about whatever. And her face does the thing, the thing where it just can’t contain all her Rae-ness and she flits from one expression to the other faster than he can keep track. He keeps a mental catalog of all the different faces she can pull, and some of them only show up when he’s gotten her good and worked up.

“You wha?!” She exclaims, and he can’t help his victorious smirk. Her face is a picture, incredulous and disgusted and embarrassed and horrified and curious and half a dozen other things he can’t put his finger on. Her brain just works so much faster than his, her head can hold so many emotions and spiderwebbing thoughts that he’s constantly amazed that she’s not always on the verge of exploding, trying to hold it all in.

She’d tried to explain it to him once, how each little thing that happened set off dominoes of exploding thoughts within her. How he’d said this, and she’d heard this, and it made her think of this, and she felt that, which made her think this other thing, and then that thing made her feel this way and feeling that way made her remember this… and on and on and on until he’d felt dizzy and a bit nauseous. He can’t imagine living inside her head, it must be exhausting.  
But sometimes, he knows, he says just the right thing or touches her in just the right way, and all that mental stuff gets quiet for a while. She goes quiet and tender, and all of the edges of her soften in a way that makes his chest hurt every time. When she gets like that, he tries to tell her some of how he feels for her, tries to explain in whatever fumbling way he can, because he suspects that that’s when it really gets in there. The only time that it truly sinks in to her busy, crowded brain that he loves her, he wants her, he thinks she’s beautiful and amazing and he’s awed by all the perfect little ways she is just her.

But this is not one of those times. This is a busy, million miles a moment time, and he likes this on her only a little less. She’s looking at him like he’s someone else, like he’s the Finn Nelson that she used to think he was, and he realizes that he’s been silent for too long.

“Eh, it were nothing. Just grade school nonsense, you know.” He concedes, and the concern in her eyes fades a little, her facial expressions slowing and settling on indignant. “Still counts, though. I am a love letter expert.”

She rolls her eyes at him, flops onto her back beside him and he knows he’s back on safe ground. She scoffs loudly and he sneakily pulls a crumpled piece of lined paper out from underneath him.

“Never gotten one so… explicit before though.” He’s smug and he knows it, but God it’s good to know that she wants him even a fraction of the way he wants her. He knows he follows her about like a puppy, all mooney eyes and lovesick looks. He knows it, and it’s barely tolerable what a sad sop he’s become in the wake of Rae’s abrupt entrance into his life. The letter makes him feel… it makes him feel like he’s maybe not alone on the island of lovesickness. Like he’s out there mooning away, but at least Rae’s there to soak it up and do a little mooning of her own.

“Finn… “ She whines, and it’s three separate syllables. It’s good she’s not calling him Finnley because he invariably gives her whatever she wants when she says his name that way, with her eyes all big and stupidly gorgeous. She’s got an arm flung over her face now, too overcome to look at him, so she can’t see the letter he’s reading.

“Dear Finn,” He reads, affecting her higher voice, giving her a funny lilt that she doesn’t actually have. “You are so much more than fit and lovely, like that daft letter said. Whatever stroppy cow sent you that got it all wrong. You are the sexiest lad to walk the face of the earth, and whenever I see you, I’m afraid the flood in my panties might rush out and overtake the town in a tidal wave of lust.”

At this point, she’s flung her arm off her face and is staring at him in wide eyed horror. He’s doing his best to keep reading, to stop laughing, but she’s bright red and just so fucking cute that it’s harder than it should be.

“Oh God, stop Finn. Please!” She’s reaching for the letter, clambering to her knees to try and snatch it from him, but he just holds it further out of her reach and keeps on reading.

“You’re so sexy that I just want to cover you in orange marmalade and lick you everywhere until I hurl because I hate orange marmalade. But I bet you covered in marmalade is delicious enough to make even it taste good. Your ass is so perfect and luscious that I bet if we could measure it and work out a formula for duplicating it, we could solve the issue of world hunger. And if your ass is that perfect, I can only imagine that your other parts are even yummier. Your…”

Rae’s frantically reaching for the letter, and he can no longer read it, because he has to wave it around spastically to prevent her from getting it. She’s sitting over him, practically in his lap, scrambling for the letter in his hands, and he’s laughing maybe harder than he ever has before. The combination of his amusement at her ridiculous letter and his complete and utter joy at her horrified face is almost more than he can bear. His chest gets tight from laughter, tears leak from the corners of his eyes, and as he lowers his arms for just a second to relieve some of the breathlessness, Rae snatches the letter and springs off the bed.

“A ha!” She crows, grinning victoriously down at him, eyes wide and face flushed. She is utterly beautiful. He loves her so much in that precise instant that he has to swallow hard and blink against the tears that burn in the back of his eyes. She’s wadded the paper in her hand, which she’s holding above her head to keep it out of his reach, even though he’s still lying on the bed. “I can’t believe you found this, but you are never ever setting eyes on it ever again. I think I’ll burn it.”

“C’mon Rae-Rae. You can’t do that.” He shoots her his best dewy, love-me eyes. He has a face she always gives in for, he knows, but he hasn't been able to figure out exactly what it was. Some days he arranges his features into what he thinks it must be and she still just glares at him until he gives it up. But sometimes, just sometimes, he gets it right and she gives in. He’s willing this to be one of those times. He is getting that letter back, no doubt about it. It is written to him, it has his name on it, and he is getting it back and keeping it forever. “Please don’t do anything to it, Rae. I really really want it. I love it, Rae. It’s so special to me. Please let me keep it.”

Rae continues to glare at him for a while, and his heart sinks in defeat. He’d dig it out of the trash, no problem, but it’d be hard to stop her from burning it if she really set her mind to it. It was hard to keep Rae from doing anything once she’d made up her mind, a trait that he found both endearing and frustrating beyond all belief, since he rarely knew that her mind was set until long after the fact. But after a minute, he notices the corners of her mouth soften and twitch up infinitesimally, and he knows he’s won. He has to keep his face in check, though. She can read him far better than he can read her.

“It’s special to you, Finnley?” He almost groans aloud when she says his name like that. Her mood has changed as she stood above him, and he knows he’s once again lost any power he’d ever entertained having. Minutes ago, she’d been a mess, blushing and embarrassed at the proof of her affection for him, and now she’s leering over him, all embarrassment gone and replaced with lustful eyes and a purring voice. This is the iteration of Rae that is most dangerous of all, and he thinks for a second that he might actually help her burn the letter if she asks him to with that dark lilt in her voice. This was Rae gone sex kitten, and Finn knows he’s in trouble. She is going to ask a price for the uncertainty she’d had, and Lord knew he was gonna pay it in full. It hadn’t taken Rae long to figure out the power she held over him after that first time, and she made sure to use it to her full advantage whenever possible.

“Do you need reminding about what you do to me?” She takes a couple of steps towards him, her stride fluid and predatory. His eyes are fixed on her face, trying his best to out-maneuver her in the game they are playing. He’s lousy at it, he knows. As soon as he gets his next move down, she’ll just change the game, turn the rules upside down. He should just give in and enjoy it. What’s the use in winning when losing is so so good?

He shakes his head. No. He wants that letter. She drunkenly wrote him the best love letter ever before they were even together and he has to have it. He’d found it mashed in the space between her mattress and her wall, crumpled up and forgotten while she was downstairs making tea. He had managed, through his incredulity and the burning in his blood, to read it through twice before she’d come upstairs and spotted him. She’d stammered and blushed and tried to steal it back, but he’d crushed it underneath his body and he was stronger than her, so even her tantalizingly probing fingers hadn't been able to claim it until he’d made the mistake of pulling it out again to tease her with. But it’s his now, he firmly believes, and he has to have it. It’s important- more important than his guitar, or his scooter, or heaven help him, his records. It’s unequivocal proof that Rae loves him and thinks he’s fit as. He has to have it. He might even frame it and hang it on the wall of his study in the house they’ll share in ten years and his kids will know their mum wants to bite into him like a rabid dog. He cannot let her sexy-time eyes defeat him, he’s gonna have to beat her at her own game.

He stands up and moves into her space, almost close enough for her breasts to rub against his chest. Her pull is magnetic, and he knows what it must feel like to be a compass, always twisting and turning towards her true north. He’s got some tricks too, though. He gets close, but doesn't touch her. Lets his face inch closer to hers, his breath ghost over her lips and he waits. She’ll sway forward, and he’ll kiss her lightly at first, but then more deeply and let his fingers slip into her hair and tug just at the base of her skull the way she likes, and she’ll moan a little a relax into him and he’ll have her. He just has to wait for that swaying. She always leans in that last little bit.

He watches as her huge, expressive eyes start to glaze over, and grow darker and softer. He has to stay strong here, he can feel himself start to get a bit lost in her eyes and that strange hush that falls over them when their bodies are close together like this. She grows heavy lidded, and he recognizes a surge of victory when she licks her lips. Well, a surge of something. It’s getting harder to stand still and wait for her to lean in, but he reminds himself of the price of giving in. The letter, the letter, the letter. He has to have that letter.

And there it is, Rae starts to sway. He begins to smile, but it’s quickly overtaken by her lips on his. He makes himself keep it light, make it a tease, though he suddenly wants nothing more than to pull her against him roughly and press her into the bed and show her just what that letter does to him. It’s not until she laves her tongue over his bottom lip that he lets himself groan into her mouth and deepen the kiss. He twines his fingers into her hair, gripping a handful and tugging gently. It takes all of his willpower to not let himself get overcome by the sound of her moan, to fight against the rising tide of need within him. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer and carefully pouring his longing into the kiss. After a moment, both longer than he would have guessed and somehow lasting an infinity, he feels her shoulders loosen and drop and he can taste the sweetness of victory on her lips. He snatches the letter from her loosened hand and spins away, face exultant and grinning.

“You cheeky bastard!” Rae narrows her eyes, but her lips are the tiniest bit puffy and damp from the kissing and her cheeks are pink and the effect is ruined. He wonders if she’s mad enough for the kissing to stop altogether for the day. These afternoons spent making out in her bed are the best part of his life, maybe even better than the times they actually have sex. He loves just lying next to her and talking about nothing and letting his fingers wander wherever they’re inclined.  
He raises his hands, palms forward, in a gesture of goodwill, but he can see her eyes tracking the movement of the letter and he figures he’d better talk if he hopes to make it out of this room with the letter. Or if he hopes to stay in the room and return to the kissing.

“Rae…” He begins, but she’s still glaring and he’s scrambling to come up with something to say that’ll be good enough for her to let him keep it. “Rae-Rae.”

“Don’t you Rae-Rae me, Finn Nelson. You’re not keeping that letter. I was pissed out of my skull when I wrote that and I thought I got rid of it and I can’t believe you found it, but you are not keeping it.”

He can feel himself start to pout, and he’s nebulously disgusted with himself for how susceptible he is to her. He tilts his head down and looks at her through his eyelashes, considers whether or not taking off his shirt would distract her enough. He dismisses the idea and decides to go for the riskier option, the truth.

“Rae, I…” He takes a deep breath and steps close enough to touch her frown with the tips of his fingers. It always helps to touch her when he has to talk, she grounds him in a way that nothing else in his life does. “I really want to keep it. It’s… I… it’s like proof that you actually love me the way I love you. That I… that I’m not the only one who’s in this all the way.”

He drops his eyes, heart pounding. It’s too much, he said too much and now he’s standing there all vulnerable with what is probably a stupid love struck expression on his face. He wants to back away, retreat for a minute and gather himself, but she’s fisted her hand in his flannel and placed her palm over his heart.

“Oh Finnley.” She breathes, and it’s soft and weak and he’s abruptly no longer worried about his own vulnerability. He meets her eyes and they’re luminous with something he can’t quite name, but he thinks it looks a little like sympathy. She’s quiet and he can almost hear that her mind has slowed down and been filled up with just the two of them, right now in this moment.

“Rae,” he begins, knowing that it’s one of those times when she might actually absorb his affection. He reaches up to stroke her face, trying to articulate his feelings for her. “I just… I love you so much that it’s terrifying, you know? And I just want you all the time. Like, I… it’s just nice to know that maybe you feel that way a little, too.”

Her eyes are so big that they are all he can see for a minute, and they’re soft and tender and he can feel the love radiating out of them. He presses his forehead to hers and tries to will her to understand, tries to communicate directly into her brain. She makes a soft sound that he can’t interpret, and then presses her lips to his. And in that kiss, he can tell that some of what he said sunk in; she’s gifting him with a kiss full of tenderness and understanding and love.

“Alright, Finley.” She sighs as she pulls back, and he keeps his eyes closed to savor the moment. “You can keep the stupid letter if it means that much to you.”  
His eyes snap open, and she chuckles softly at the expression on his face. He knows she’s reluctant to really surrender it, but he’s just so fucking happy to have won this one, to have won that letter. He scrunches up his nose and grins.

“You just have to promise to never speak of it again. And if you ever make that bloody voice again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.” She warns, pursing her lips and waggling her finger directly in his face. He grabs her hand and uses it to pull her closer for another kiss, and this time he lets himself give in to the impulse to push further and kiss her deeper and make it more. He knows he’s smiling against her lips, and probably making another hopelessly moony face, but he’s so irrepressibly happy that he doesn't care.

“Done.” He replies, tugging her closer and stumbling with her towards the bed. “Absolutely.”


End file.
